


Beware, Take Care

by Guardian_Rose



Series: A String Of Moments Makes A Life [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 'cause these two have this brilliantly complex dynamic, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sickfic, Sort of near death experience, can be read as:, or as:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 10:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19148986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_Rose/pseuds/Guardian_Rose
Summary: The now unrestrained light was starting to hurt his eyes, waves of aching pain radiating through his head. And Aziraphale...Aziraphale was…“Fine, everything’s fine,” Aziraphale sputtered out at last, his grip on Crowley’s arms tight still and his expression manic. “You’re fine. I’m fine. Everything- everything is just- just fine.”“Angel? What just happened?”---Tumblr Anon Prompt response





	Beware, Take Care

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the tumblr anon who prompted this! Hope this is okay! 
> 
> 'That ask you filled about sick Aziraphale was so cute... turned tables, Crowley is sick and Zira is the caretaker??'

It was somewhere around the time that they both first found themselves in Soho, Aziraphale with his bookshop and Crowley planning a nail-biting (for the angel) heist, that Aziraphale first saw Crowley with one of his migraines. They’d been out on a celebratory walk (celebrating the store’s grand opening by closing it for the afternoon was Crowley’s idea) (not that Aziraphale had put up much of a fight) around the park. Crowley had left his jacket in the store along with Aziraphale’s coat due to the bleeding hot weather, the sun beating down on the earth like it was intentionally trying to blind them all. How Aziraphale wasn’t wearing sunglasses to fend off some of the light was a mystery. Aziraphale was talking about something or other in that long winded fashion of his that meant he was ranting, possibly about the preachy man on a soap box not far in front of them, which in turn meant it was safe for Crowley to zone out a little. He was very sure the angel wasn’t ranting about  _ him _ . If Aziraphale was ranting about him then they wouldn’t still be walking along arm in arm. The looks they got were a bit odd but most of the population were in fact struggling with the heat as much as Crowley was so nothing progressed further than the occasional whispered comment to an accompanying companion. 

 

He was just starting to consider directing them back to the bookshop when Aziraphale yanked him to the side. Aziraphale’s other arm was tugging him further across the path before Crowley even regained his sense of right and left. He tried to push away, affronted at being randomly thrown about but Aziraphale just held onto him harder, arms trembling a little as they held Crowley in an embrace. Crowley frowned in confusion at the preachy man currently frozen mid-speech on the other side of the path to them. 

 

“Uh,” he said, his chin tickled by Aziraphale’s hair, “what’s happening?”

 

Aziraphale huffed a shaky exhale and pushed himself back, looking Crowley up and down a couple of times. It was at this moment that Crowley realised that, in the strange turn of events, his glasses had fallen off somewhere. Any other time and he’d have been far more concerned about it and the fact that his spares were in his jacket currently  _ not _ on him. But, as it was, Aziraphale looked as if he’d just evaded death by hellfire. Crowley was starting to feel a little panicky himself. The now unrestrained light was starting to hurt his eyes, waves of aching pain radiating through his head. And Aziraphale...Aziraphale was…

 

“Fine, everything’s fine,” Aziraphale sputtered out at last, his grip on Crowley’s arms tight still and his expression manic. “You’re fine. I’m fine. Everything- everything is just- just  _ fine _ .”

 

“Angel? What just happened?”

 

“You uh...Well, you see, that  _ man _ ,” Aziraphale said the word as if the man in question was actually Lucifer himself, “started to flick around ‘holy water’ and I thought it was nothing to be worried about except it’s  _ actually _ holy water and you um…”

 

Crowley blanched and took an aborted step back, his heel eliciting a sharp crack from something on the ground. He ignored it. “ _ Fucking--  _ I almost just-- By  _ him _ ?” 

 

Aziraphale nodded, sheepish. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I should have realised sooner and steered us elsewhere. I knew you weren’t really paying attention.”

 

“Stop it, it’s not your fault.” Crowley snapped, closing his eyes against the glare of the sun. He could really do with a sit down. Somewhere dark and not, apparently, a death trap. 

 

Aziraphale’s fingers brushed against his for a beautiful second and then the angel was making another noise and honestly, Crowley didn’t think he could take another near-death experience right then so if that man was coming closer with his thrice blessed water, Crowley may just blink him out of existence. 

 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, “your glasses.”

 

“Yes, I know,” Crowley said without opening his eyes, lifting one hand to block some of the sun, “they’ve been dropped somewhere. I’ll find them in a second just give me a minute.”

 

“No. No, my dear boy, you’re standing on them.” 

 

Crowley snapped his eyes open to look down at the floor. What he had assumed was a broken bit of glass or something was in fact his own glasses. 

 

“Shit.”

 

“Don’t you have spares?”

 

“Do I look like I have my jacket right now?” He snapped, kicking the shattered eyewear to the edge of the path and stalking away. Towards the bookshop. Because it was closer. No other reason at all. He pretended not to notice when Aziraphale miracles the glasses into a nearby bin. 

 

Aziraphale caught up with him quickly, looping their arms together again. He was shaking a little still. Crowley slowed his pace and didn’t push him away. 

 

***

 

Crowley didn’t bother waiting for Aziraphale to dig out the key to the bookshop, he just clicked his fingers and strode in. Relying on Aziraphale to close the door behind him. It was blessedly cool in the shop. Darker too. Dim lighting only from the windows. Crowley made his way to the sofa and lay down on it, closing his eyes. Listening to the bustling of his angel making sure everything is still in its place. He could hear him making drinks and then there was a hot drink set on the floor by his head. He grumbled what he hoped was a vaguely grateful noise in response. There was a brush of lips, familiar and intended to never be spoken of, on his forehead. Crowley falls asleep after that. 

 

***

 

It’s not until the next day that Crowley feels it’s safe to lift his head from the sofa for longer than a couple of minutes to down the cups of tea Aziraphale leaves for him. When he does manage it Aziraphale is there, at eye level as he’s been caught mid-tea-exchange. Crowley raises a brow at him when Aziraphale does nothing more than stare. That prompts the angel into action and he straightens up, handing the new mug of tea directly into Crowley’s hands. Crowley can’t remember how often he’s had fresh mugs of tea but it must have been  _ very often _ because, on reflex, Aziraphale still leans in to press a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head. The demon sits there, vaguely flummoxed, and pats the sofa space next to him. Aziraphale takes the hint.

 

“How are you feeling?” Aziraphale asks, twiddling his thumbs in his lap.

 

“Better.” Crowley sips the tea, it’s almost perfect, needs a little less milk. “How long was I out?”

 

“Just a day,” Aziraphale starts rummaging in a pocket suddenly and produces a pair of folded sunglasses, he holds them out. “Did you want these back now?”

 

“Are those from my jacket?”

 

Aziraphale nods and waves them a bit as if to say ‘go on now, take them, you great idiot’. Crowley does but only to balance them on the sofa arm on his other side. The lighting in here never hurts, he’s found. He’s also not always sensitive to the light. Just when it’s extreme. 

 

“Has that,” Aziraphale asks cautiously, “happened before?”

 

“Yeah,” Crowley says, casually sipping his tea again and leaning back, flinging one arm behind the angel next to them. “Just a bit of a migraine is all.”

 

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes, a look of relief spreading across his face. “I thought maybe some of the water had gotten on you.”

 

Crowley frowns, feeling a tad insulted. “Angel, I wouldn’t lie to you about that. Brush it off and ignore it, yes. But I wouldn’t  _ lie _ to you about it.”

 

Aziraphale pats his knee. “I know, my dear, but you  _ are _ a demon.”

 

Crowley huffs in defeat and drinks his tea. He makes a note to be as frustratingly patronising to Aziraphale if the angel is ever the one who’s ill.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> No beta, all mistakes my own
> 
> Prompts welcome here and on my writing tumblr [WordToTheRose ](https://wordtotherose.tumblr.com/) or come say hi on my main [Guardian-Rose-Petal](https://guardian-rose-petal.tumblr.com/)
> 
> P.S. The tense change was intentional, I'm playing around with structure/etc. If you want, lemme know what you thought :D


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